The Light That Guides
by an-extraordinary-muse
Summary: In the lull after Slade Wilson's orchestrated chaos, Team Arrow must find a way to rebuild and reshape what has been shaken. Just how the hell are they supposed to rebuild a superhero lair with no money, a surprise baby Diggle on the way, a squad of deadly and mildly untrustworthy (but possibly redeemable) villains and a sudden influx of unexpected visitors, anyway?
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note: So I posted this on AO3 a few days ago, but for some reason FF was giving me a hard time so I'm only just getting it up here now. Anyway, hooray for a new story! I posted the original idea for this on my tumblr a little bit ago, and I'm looking forward to fleshing it out into a full story. Hope you guys enjoy it. :)_**

**_Spoilers: None. Jumps off just after the end of season 2._**

**_Disclaimer: Not mine. _**

* * *

_Words have weight, Oliver. They have power. Use them carefully; their echoes leave lasting impressions. _

His father's words, imparted to him a lifetime ago, reverberated in his mind. Around and around they went, bouncing off of each other as if they were brightly colored bouncy balls, carelessly thrown and then forgotten. He couldn't say why he'd remembered his father's advice so suddenly.

No. That was a lie. He knew exactly why those words were pestering him, why they were creating a chaos in him that he refused to acknowledge. The echo of his father's words kept smashing into the echo of his own: _I love you_.

Across from him, Felicity was picking through the piles of displaced trash that had once been the Foundry in an effort to salvage any bits of technology or wiring that she could use to rebuild. The lair was moving. They couldn't keep their base of operations in the basement of a club that Oliver no longer owned. The safety building - the redundancy Oliver had set up had escaped Isabel's notice, and so had not been ripped away from him in the take over. That was one small mercy, according to Felicity. She didn't mention anything about their inability to furnish or otherwise set up their secondary lair now that Oliver was destitute. Well, not exactly destitute, but close enough to not make much difference.

Oliver's eyes tracked her movement as Felicity sifted through the junk. The evidence of the concussion she'd sustained from the wreck was in the slight jerk of movements that were normally seamless. Though the blood in her hairline was gone, an angry bruise had taken up residence in the same spot. Every time Oliver saw it, he felt that same terrible thrill of adrenaline he'd experienced after the crash.

_Is she breathing? _

They'd had one too many close calls lately. Too many chances for everything to go wrong, too many plans that could've gone to Hell with no warning or hope of redemption.

They had almost lost. _He_ had almost lost, so much; too much.

_ Do you understand? _

He'd done what was necessary, what Felicity herself had told him to do. Slade had had him backed into a corner. Still, it left a bad taste in his mouth when he thought about what he'd done to her, what he'd put her through. He had offered Felicity up as bait - dangled her from a hook like a choice worm in order to draw out the big fish. The plan had worked, but he didn't hate it any less for its success. If it hadn't worked -.

"Oliver?" Felicity was looking at him, a mess of wires clutched in one hand. "You're staring at me."

"How are you feeling?" He went to her automatically, crossing into her space like it was no different from his own. The bruise at her hairline stood out starkly against her pale skin.

"A little dizzy still, but not bad," Felicity replied honestly. "Nothing to worry about." He shot her a glare, which she brushed off with a casual shrug. "I'm fine, Oliver."

In reality, he knew that. All things considered, she'd been lucky to come out of the last seventy-two hours with nothing more than a concussion and a few scrapes. That wasn't the problem.

Oliver had always felt … connected to Felicity in some way. He knew where she was the moment he stepped into the room. He was always aware of her. Now, though - now that awareness had morphed into something else, something electric. Oliver didn't just feel connected to Felicity, he felt tied to her, as if some part of him had reached out and wrapped itself around her. He felt hyper aware of her now, as if he were a rod and she a lightning bolt.

Logically, he knew that she was okay. He was just … having a hard time dealing with the strange new reactions he was having to her presence.

"Find anything usable?" he asked, motioning to the damaged equipment littering the floor. He needed to stop thinking about it.

"A few wires so far," she answered, sighing. "I'll probably only be able to run one monitor for awhile. I know I have some spare motherboards somewhere at home, I'll have to dig them out. Rebuilding the mainframe will be the hardest part."

Oliver nodded, then said, "What?" when he realized Felicity was smirking at him.

"Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

"I'm not a complete idiot, Felicity. I know what a mainframe is."

"Just checking."

"Ollie?" A new voice called.

As one, Felicity and Oliver turned to see Laurel descending the stairs.

Though he'd belonged to that nickname for most of his life, it felt wrong to hear it uttered in this space, ruined as it was. That was new, too - he'd never particularly minded before. Now, though, the nickname was just a reminder of a past that shamed him. A past that was, in some part, responsible for the destruction of his city.

"Laurel." She was wearing Sara's leather jacket and looked as though she'd gone home and cleaned up.

"I'm gonna keep looking," Felicity said quietly, excusing herself.

Oliver met Laurel halfway, thinking as he did so that it was strange to see her here. The way that her eyes cast around made him think that she was trying to recall what this place had looked like before; what that pile had been before its demise, where that glass had come from.

Oliver acknowledged that this woman, who had once fit into so many places in his life, did not fit here.

"What will you do now?" Laurel questioned by way of a greeting.

"Rebuild." He tried not to sigh tiredly when he said it, and almost succeeded.

"Where will you go?"

The answer was automatic, and a lie. "I don't know yet."

Laurel appraised him, gauging what his answer would be before he gave it. "You won't tell me when you do, will you?"

This time, he told her the truth. "No. You're in line to be the new District Attorney, Laurel. It's better if you don't know."

Oliver thought Laurel might be recalling an earlier conversation, when he'd told her that they needed to get back to being just the three of them, because she didn't press the issue. He was grateful for that. While he didn't blame Laurel for what had happened, the sight of her now only reinforced his distaste for what he'd had to do to protect her from Slade. Saving Laurel, getting the upper hand over Slade, had required more of Oliver than he'd previously thought himself capable of giving. Something that he hoped he'd never have to give again.

_To fight the unthinkable, you have to be willing to do the unthinkable. _

Laurel's eyes flicked to a spot over his shoulder. Her voice was quieter - gentler - when she said, "I didn't know."

He knew what - who she was looking at, then. He didn't need to turn around to see Felicity, still expertly working her way between the rubble of equipment. The Foundry had been her home as much as it had been his; she knew exactly what she was looking for, and where it should be.

Oliver was saved from answering by a muttered, "Why can't there be some sort of superhero insurance? My poor computers," which was followed immediately by Digg calling out a greeting. Oliver hid his smile - a result of Felicity's muttering - in an answer to that greeting.

"Down here, Diggle."

Lyla was with him. She smiled by way of a greeting, but there seemed to be some underlying tension between her and Diggle. Oliver didn't pry.

Digg nodded at Laurel. "How's your father?"

"Grumpy because he has to stay in the hospital, but otherwise he's on the mend. He'll be on desk duty for awhile when he gets out - no one's told him yet."

"Smart."

"Digg? Could you give me a hand moving this?" Felicity asked then.

"Take care, Laurel."

"You, too."

Digg and Lyla stepped away to assist Felicity, and when Oliver turned his attention back to Laurel there was something in her expression that he couldn't quite grasp. "I'm gonna go. You've got a lot to do, and I told my dad I'd sneak him in a burger. Be careful out there, and take care of yourself, Ollie."

He smiled and gave her a short nod. "If you need anything."

"I know."

As Oliver watched Laurel disappear up the stairs, Felicity's voice in the background explaining to Digg and Lyla what she was looking for, he had the unshakeable feeling that it would be a long time before he saw either one of the Lance sisters again.

For the first time in seven years, that thought didn't bother him. Despite everything that had happened, and all the new challenges that were ahead of him, as he rejoined his team Oliver Queen felt free in a way that he'd never known.

"I vote we get a hammock for the new lair," Felicity informed them.

"Where would we put a hammock, Felicity?" Digg queried.

"Next to the salmon ladder, so I can still see. Wait - that came out wrong. I didn't mean …"

Oliver smiled. They had work to do.


	2. Chapter 1

Felicity bounced her toes to the rhythm of the song and lobbed another piece of caramel popcorn into the air. The small treat came down in an arc and landed perfectly in her mouth. She wasn't sure if she should feel proud, or ashamed, of that fact.

She decided on proud.

Chewing - and swallowing - upside down was a strange sensation, and more than a little difficult. Her throat was beginning to feel scratchy from the exertion of eating at an odd angle, but Felicity ignored the urge to sit up and get a drink. She wasn't done examining the patterns on her ceiling yet. She'd already found a (somewhat crude) dolphin and the Pisces constellation in the rough texturing above her, and it'd be a shame to give up looking now.

Though she was bad at many things - like phrasing simple sentences in non-embarrassing ways - Felicity was very good with money. Part of that was just an innate ability, and part of it had come directly from her mother. One couldn't spend an extended period of time with a Vegas cocktail waitress and not learn a thing or two about handling money. Felicity Smoak was a woman of humble origins, and doubted that she'd ever be truly rich, but over the years she had learned to live comfortably with what she had. Which was why, only one year earlier, when her idiot boss had jetted off to an unpopulated island and left her with the cool sum of a million dollars, Felicity had been _pissed_.

She'd known that Oliver had given her and Diggle the money because of his overdeveloped sense of guilt, and because he had wanted them to be able to rebuild. That had only made a tiny dent in her anger, however, because _who just gave away a million dollars? _Even if it was to friends, after a natural disaster that he felt responsible for. Felicity had been upset by the monetary gift at first, thinking that it betrayed just how little Oliver really knew her - did he really think that his money mattered to her? Only after much deliberation, and a few conversations with Digg, had Felicity come to realize that the money wasn't a reflection on her, but on Oliver.

In one of their conversations, John Diggle, ever the wise man, had posited a question: "What can Oliver do that money can't?"

Felicity had understood, then, and stopped being angry. And immediately set to work on rebuilding and refurnishing the lair with state of the art everything, using the money Oliver had left her. Diggle had warned her not to expect much if - when - they got Oliver to return, but Felicity had forged ahead with her tireless optimism. Oliver would come back, and they'd be a team again - criminals beware.

Before the money was gone, however, the money manager side of her had reared its economical head. She had debated mightily with herself for a few weeks before finally giving in and using a chunk of that money for something that had nothing to do with Oliver or the vigilante; something that was entirely for herself.

Felicity had paid off her townhouse.

Now, with her feet in the air as she hung upside down over her couch cushions and caught popcorn from the air, she was immensely glad that she had made that decision. Not having a mortgage payment - and not having to worry about keeping a roof over her head - was a great relief now that Felicity found herself without a job. She had enough stockpiled in her savings to be okay for a bit, but she had to be careful until she could find new employment.

Which was why she was entertaining herself by catching thrown popcorn at two o'clock on a Friday.

Felicity ate a few more pieces before finally giving in to the sand paper scratchiness of her throat and pulling herself up into a seated position. She could barely remember what it was like to not have a job - she'd even worked her way through a demanding college curriculum - and found that she wasn't overly fond of the empty hours.

Two weeks had passed since Hurricane Slade had come and gone. Two weeks that felt like two months to Felicity. The MIT grad had turned in nearly a dozen resumes to the IT departments of Starling City's top companies, most of which were Fortune 500 members. So far, she hadn't received even a single call back.

Oliver - who was also jobless, and in more dire straits than Felicity - had told her that it was probably due in no small part to the part of her resume that listed Queen Consolidated as a previous employer. She hadn't said anything in answer, but thought that he was probably right. And that just pissed her off.

An unexpected knock on her door made her jump. She stared at the wooden expanse for a split second and then hopped to her feet to peer through the peephole.

Oliver was on the other side.

"Hey," Felicity greeted as soon as she'd pulled the door open. "What's up?"

Oliver shrugged a shoulder to draw attention to the black duffel bag that hung there. "I was hoping I could steal a few minutes with your shower."

Felicity grinned and shook her head simultaneously, then stepped out of the doorway in silent invitation.

"I don't understand why you insist on sleeping in that basement," she said as she closed the door.

"Because the bank owns the manor," Oliver retorted dryly. This was not the first time they'd had this particular argument.

"It barely even has a proper bathroom, Oliver."

"Which is why I'm here."

Felicity sighed and swept her arm in the direction of the bathroom. "You know where it is. Have you had lunch yet? Why do I bother asking, of course you haven't."

She'd already turned and headed for the kitchen, so she didn't see the answering smirk on Oliver's lips. He could hear her rummaging through cupboards and drawers as he closed the bathroom door.

Oliver had been here before. This was not the first time he'd trespassed on the hospitality of friends to enjoy the simple pleasure of a shower. Still, there was a strange tightness not unlike nervousness in his chest as he disrobed and turned on the shower. Though he'd been invited, it still felt a little like an invasion of Felicity's privacy to be naked and surrounded by her things.

Which he was probably better off not thinking about.

Despite the little voice in his head that told him to, Oliver didn't rush through his shower. Hot water was a commodity that he had not fully appreciated when he'd had a proper place to live. The knowledge that it was mid-afternoon and the water tank would have plenty of time to restock the hot water before Felicity showered again kept him from feeling overly guilty about the indulgence.

By the time he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower the mirror was completely fogged over and he could smell what he was convinced was spaghetti. As he'd done often in the recent past, Oliver silently thanked providence - or his lucky stars - for driving him into Felicity's office that day two years ago. Like Diggle, she was someone that he'd never intended to rely on, and only now could admit that he couldn't do without.

That was especially true on days like today, when she gave him free reign of her shower and made sure he ate. Even if he knew that said kindnesses would come with an argument about his current living arrangements.

But Oliver didn't mind the argument. In fact, he found himself smiling as he exited the bathroom in a swirl of steam vapors.

"Spaghetti?" he inquired as he made his way to the kitchen.

"I made extra," Felicity answered without turning around. "So you'll have plenty to take with you. Ya know, since you don't have a kitchen."

Oliver barely managed to wipe the grin off his face before she threw a pointed glance at him over her shoulder. "Thank you."

He'd lost count of how many meals he'd shared with both Felicity and Digg over the years of long nights spent hunting criminals, but Oliver couldn't deny that it was a different experience when they were eating in a private home. He felt the same way every time he showed up at Digg's and Lyla, who had apparently unofficially moved in, insisted on making him something to eat. At first, it had made him feel a stab of guilt to realize just how little he really knew about his friends outside of their work, until he'd given himself a mental kick and decided to really get to know them. The process was a continual one, and sometimes it still struck him as oddly … intimate to find himself eating mostly home cooked meals in private residences, instead of fast food in the basement of an industrial building.

Intimate and sometimes awkward, but still pleasant. Having dinner together was something normal, non-crime fighting friends did.

Oliver took the bowl full of pasta that Felicity handed him and followed her over to her kitchen table, which she hastily cleared of spare computer parts and miscellaneous papers. He ignored her sheepish expression and mumbled apology about the mess, like he always did; in all the times that he'd been to her home, Felicity's kitchen table had always been half covered in stuff. Oliver didn't mind. He found it quite fascinating, in fact, to see all the things that cluttered the space. His eyes would dance over it all, curious about what the papers said and always getting stuck on the small mechanical pieces and computer chips as he tried to imagine what it would be like to see things the way Felicity did. It was easy for him to forget that she was wicked smart until he saw all the computer pieces that littered her home, or watched her rewire something in the lair; he would never know what it was like to understand something so completely, to be able to disassemble something so intricate without damaging all the tiny parts. Never mind putting it back together.

No, Oliver didn't mind the clutter and repeated clearing of table space. He relished the sight of such a messy space in the midst of Felicity's habitual neatness, and the evidence of her intelligence.

"Are they puzzles?" The words left his mouth without any authorization to do so, and Felicity gave him a confused glance as she dropped into one of the chairs. Oliver motioned to the computer parts with his chin as he followed her example. "Computers. Are they like puzzles to you?"

Felicity glanced up at the ceiling for a second and then shrugged her shoulders. "I guess you could say that. I started taking apart computers because I wanted to know what made them tick. I love seeing the exposed circuits and understanding what they do, seeing the memory cards and knowing that such a tiny thing can hold so much information."

She stopped herself before she hit full nerd speed, but Oliver didn't look bored. He was listening intently and spinning his fork in the middle of his spaghetti, the noodles catching and sliding up toward the handle.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

Felicity narrowed her eyes at him. "You're trying to get me talking about computers so I won't harp on you about living in the lair, aren't you?"

"I didn't hear any harping." Oliver kept his face perfectly smooth.

"Only because you were trying to cut me off at the pass. You know we can stop having this argument as soon as you listen to reason."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Oliver!" Felicity couldn't keep from rolling her eyes at him. Seriously, why did he insist on being so difficult? "You're sleeping on a cot. There's nowhere to shower, or do laundry, or cook a meal. It's an empty industrial building - nothing remotely close to a habitable abode."

One of Oliver's eyebrows arched. "Habitable abode?" he repeated.

"Oh shut up," she retorted, waving her empty fork through the air at him. "You can't keep staying there and you know it. It's just ridiculous. Digg and I both have spare bedrooms. It just makes sense, it's smart."

"I can't pay …"

"Money doesn't matter, Oliver."

_You do. _She didn't say it, but he heard it anyway.

"The spare bed is already made up and ready," Felicity continued. "You're staying here tonight, and then you can make a choice tomorrow. And don't bother fighting me on this."

"How did you know I'd come over today?" Oliver could feel a smile tugging at his mouth.

"I didn't. I've had the spare room ready since the last time you stopped by. Digg has too. You'd be having the same conversation with him right now if you'd shown up there instead." Felicity grinned smugly at him and popped a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

The smile finally broke over his face and he shook his head as he took a bite of spaghetti. Instead of worrying about all the ways the whole thing could go wrong, Oliver chose to be thankful.

Thankful and hopeful that, wherever she was, Thea had found her own Felicity and Diggle.


End file.
